Harris Channing (12 page)

"Because you're a
survivor."

She should have just accepted the
compliment, instead she pushed him. "Maybe," she acknowledged.
"Or maybe it's just that I'm not a quitter."

He didn't say anything in response,
just continued gazing upon her, no sadness in his eyes, more the eyes of a fox
at the ready to devour a big fat hen. Finally, he answered. "Be careful,
Bobbie."

At the sound of the cabin door
opening, David stepped back and turned his full attention on Reg, his flexing
jaw noticeable despite his heavy beard.

Reg stood in woolen trousers, knee
high boots and the same frock coat he wore the day before. The wind whipped at
his blonde curls and a wide smile crossed his clean shaven face. "Do come
in out of the weather you two. I've a fresh pot of coffee and some biscuits."

David offered Bobbie his hand and
without hesitation, she curled her fingers around his. Following him toward the
house, she struggled with snow drifts, and despite her layers of clothing,
their chill touched her knees and added to her mounting discomfort. Fighting a
shiver, her gaze traveled out past the cabin. Mountain upon mountain met her
stare and despite her misery, she grudgingly admitted the beauty of the place.
But would she ever grow accustomed to the cold and did she really want to? She
knew the answer. No.

Upon entering the cabin, her
thoughts of the weather faded. The place was immaculately kept, if not sparsely
furnished. But the furniture that was there was fine, not the rustic fashion
that she expected.

A crimson settee fronted by a
mahogany coffee table rested a comfortable distance from the fireplace. Brass
hand irons glistened beside the stone fireplace and in the far corner of the
one room cabin was the largest four poster bed she'd ever laid eyes on. The
bedspread not a homemade quilt but dark red brocade threaded with gold. White
fluffy pillows beckoned a weary head.

She dropped David's hand and moved
toward the fire. Atop the polished mantle were photographs. Several women and
one stern older fellow stared back at her from the past.

"Those unhappy looking people
are my father and sisters," Reg said, coming up beside her.

Bobbie turned to face him and when
he looked at her his eyes spoke of sorrow. "Where are they now?"

"Father is in the ground and
my sisters are in Boston's high society, married with children whom they plan
to wed off to others in high society."

"Why are you so far
away?" she asked, not really enjoying the proximately of his body to hers.
Why was it he constantly wanted to be so close? She turned her head to look to
David for reassurance, but she got none.

He stood by the door with his arms
crossed over his chest and his mouth an angry, tight line. But what worried her
most was the anger that danced in his eye. She knew him well enough to realize
that meant trouble. Big trouble.

"I suppose when I left it was
because I didn't want my father running my life. Now, I know the real
reason."

She looked to Reg, the spicy scent
of his cologne not nearly as enticing as David's clean, natural scent.
"What would that be?"

"I wanted to wed a woman I
could treasure and love. Not one that would bring me cold treasure and spoiled
children." His lifted his dark blonde brow. "What are you looking
for, Roberta?"

"She's looking for her
family," David interrupted. "Why not show them to her so I can get
her home."

"Home?" she asked. Now,
it was her turn to lift her brow. "You're not taking me to the post?"

"The
trading
post?" Reg's voice registered his surprise. "My
dear lady, you are more than welcome to stay here! The post is no place for a
woman."

"Stay out of it Reg, it
doesn't concern you," David warned.

"It's all right David, Mr.
Crocker. I'll do what David sees fit."

"Oh, my God!" Reg
shouted, his pale face flushing. "What is it about this man that has
beautiful women doing his bidding?"

Without warning, David sped across
the room. He curled his hands around Reg's lapels as he slammed him into the
far wall so hard the floor actually vibrated. A vase toppled from the fireplace
mantel, crashing to the floor.

She could hardly believe what she was
witnessing. The two men trading punches, colliding into walls, shattering
dishes. What was the matter with them!

"Stop it this instant!"
she screamed at the top of her lungs. "I cannot fathom this
insanity." She waded into the fray just as she did when her brother and
his friend, Ty began fighting over who would ask Betsy Seymour to dance. It was
ridiculous, but what was even more ridiculous was the fact that they were
fighting over a dead woman. A woman neither one of them could ever have.

David reared back and shoved Bobbie
aside, just as Reg's fist made contact with his chin. He stumbled back.
"Roberta get out of the God damned way. You're going to get hurt!"

She realized he had saved her from
Reg's misplaced wrath, but that did little to ease her pain. He wanted her out
of the way and although he was protecting her…that was always his desire. To
have her out of his life, gone and forgotten. Well, so be it.

Turning away from the fools, she
allowed them to continue exchanging blows. Through bleary eyes, she made her
way to the door and out into the cold October afternoon. Large fresh flakes of
snow fell from the suddenly gray sky. "Wonderful," she moaned.
"I hate this place."

With her lower lip trembling, she
stumbled through the drifts toward the horse. When she reached Ned, she wrapped
her arms around his neck and buried her face in the shaggy coat. Patiently, the
animal stood vigil as she sobbed, never wavering, never pushing her away. Still
and stoic, he was exactly what she needed. Too bad he wasn't human.

Oh, how she needed her mother's
comforting embrace, her father's words of wisdom, or even a snide comment from
her brother.

Finally, she stopped, all her tears
spent. Glancing over her shoulder she realized that neither of the stiff-necked
fools was coming to be with her at her most desperate hour. Neither one could
curb their rage or their pride nor their passion for Sarah, long enough to help
her deal with her fresh, debilitating pain.

Wiping her eyes with the sleeve of
Sarah's coat, she turned toward the small stable that lay a few feet from the
cabin. Her family was in there. She knew it, but was she strong enough to enter
on her own?

"I'll
be there to catch you…"

David had lied. He would never be
anything but an empty vessel, a man in love with a phantom. She sniffled and
dragged in a breath of icy winter air and for the first time accepted the fact
that he was indeed irreparably broken. That there was nothing she could do to
help him. That her future, no matter what it held, would call on every ounce of
strength she possessed to endure.

"I can do this, Ned," she
whispered and fighting the anxiety that twisted her gut into a knot, she moved
through the snow and toward the barn. Just three more steps and she would be
there.

Her hand trembled as she unhooked
the latch. Dim light cascaded into the now open barn. She curled her hands by
her side at the telltale scent of lime mixed with the underlying perfume of
leather, hay and horses. Lime…her stomach roiled because she knew what that
meant.

The wind pushed her nearer to the
entry and stepping inside she held onto the dusty, wooden wall planks for
support. Deeper and deeper into the barn she stumbled, her shadow falling
across three forms bound tightly in thick, woolen blankets.
 
They lay side by side at the far end of the
stable. Her body grew numb, everything around her taking on a dark, nightmarish
quality. This wasn't happening…no it was just a dream. A terrible dream.

As she reached them, she fell to
her knees. Through glassy eyes, she stared at the bundles, her mind blank, and
her body ravaged by adrenaline.

Her hand quaked as she stretched
her fingers toward the cloaked forms.
 
There would be no seeing anything but their faces, for their bodies were
bound beneath heavy dark wool and knotted rope.
 
Still, she would be able to see their faces
for Reg and draped them with pale white linen cloth. Outside, the wind howled,
a shrill cry that whistled through the boards and raised the fine hairs on the
back of her neck.

A lump filled her throat as she realized
by the stature of the first set of remains that she was about to gaze upon her
brother. Her nine year old brother had always been so full of vigor, so excited
by the sight of a caterpillar or for the pleasure of a swim on a hot summer
day. Now, he was still…stilled forever by winter's greed for warmth.

Pulling off her mitten, she
snatched the cloth from his face and stared at the unnatural color of his
lifeless flesh. Touching his cheek, her tears sped from her eyes. It was him.
There was no denying the freckles that dotted the bridge of his nose, his
bright red curls, or the scar on his upper lip from a fall from a tree three
years before.

"Oh, Robert," she said,
her words coming out on a sob. She smoothed his cheek and leaned over him and
placed a kiss upon his forehead. "I am so sorry." Her stomach
clenched at the heaviness in her heart as it increased two-fold.

She gazed upon him but a moment
longer, knowing her chore would not be done until she kissed her parents
goodbye.

Pa would be next. He lay between
his wife and son, the outline of his form one she could recognize despite the
thick shroud that covered him. Her fingers numb from cold and emotion battled
against her will to pull the linen from his face. "T-This must be
done," she said through chattering teeth. She had to see, to be convinced,
to put an end to the dreadful hope that she clung to.

Taking in a deep breath, she jerked
the cloth from his face. Her heart squeezed painfully, a sob catching in her
throat. "Pa," she could barely say his name for crying. Bearded,
heavy forehead, thinning sandy colored hair…it was him. He was dead…gone.
"Oh, God," she mumbled. "Please let me wake up from this
nightmare."

She set her hand upon her own face,
her lips tingling as she gasped for air. She no longer felt the biting chill,
no longer heard the howl of the wind. All feeling was gone. All the sounds of
the outside world drown out by the loud pulse of her racing heart.

Leaning back, she tried to compose
herself and knew that there was going to be none of that until she finished her
ordeal…until she was away from here and sitting by Albert and remembering her
family as they were, not where they were now.

She set a kiss upon her father's
cheek before scrambling around her father and to her mother's side. Despite her
love for her men folk, this was going to be the most difficult. Ma had been the
one to raise her, teach her, and comfort her.

"Bobbie
honey, you need to remember that being a lady is harder than being a
tomboy."

"And
a lot less fun," she grumbled, plopping down on her bed. "I'm
thirteen Ma, do I have to wear a dress? Britches are easier and I can't climb
the oak in a skirt."

"I
don't want you climbing the oak anymore. To make a proper wife you'll need to
learn to tend the garden and milk the cow. I've been lax and you have been
wild. This fatigue I feel has done more to harm than I care to admit."

It
was true, for as long as she could remember Ma had been tired and cold. Still
she did all she could and didn't really complain. Pa said she did her best and
that was all anyone could do.

"Cows
and radishes don't give a fig if I wear britches or not," Bobbie whined.

Ma
knelt down before her and took hold of her hand. "Sweet girl, I'd let you
wear britches to church, but I'd be disappointing the Lord."

"God
cares if I wear a dress?"

"No,
but God gave me a daughter and not two sons."

She closed her eyes and braced
herself. The sheet was cold and brittle under her touch, rough against her
fingertips. Slowly, she pulled the cloth away, and her heart shattered. Graying
dark hair, pale skin void of her usual blush, the small goiter at the base of
her neck...

There was no doubt, this was her
family. Everyone that loved her in the world had gone on to the next. She
kissed her mother's cheek and all her anguish flood through her on a sob so
loud that it surely echoed into the heavens. Falling over on her side, she
curled up next to her ma on the dusty floor. "Dear God," she mumbled
over and over, all the time wondering just how she was supposed to go on from
here.

Chapter 10

"Damnation!"
David growled trying to pull free from Reg's grasping hands. His panic cleared
his mind. What if she had run off on her own? He wouldn’t be able to live with
himself if harm came to Bobbie. "Will you stop with the nonsense already?
Can't you see she's gone?"

"I
saw her go just after you shouted at her to get out of the way. You damned
fool. You hurt her." Reg's face registered his contempt. The sneer, the
narrowed eyes, the way the muscles in his neck bulged with each word he spoke,
proof of his hatred.

His
irritation reignited and despite the tremor in his hands, David longed to
unload both barrels into to Reg's smug, if not bruised and bleeding face.

"And
who do you think she's going to be angry with for this fiasco?" Reg
hissed, still attempting to hold David in place. "You. And who do you
suppose is going to be there to offer her support?"

"You'll
not lay a finger on her, do you understand? She's not for the likes of you, you
philandering lothario."